with his fists as though he would break it in pieces.
Again the mayor seized his opportunity, and said “You need not sleep there, pantata, give me your hand; I will lead you to our house, and you can choose for yourself the bed which you like best.”
“True, that might be,” said Loyka as if he came to himself a little. But immediately after this he added with a bitter laugh, “But think you sleep would visit me, there, either? If Loyka passed a night in the village outside his own estate, could he also sleep! He could not sleep! I thank you respectfully kind neighbour. But hence I will not stir. If no one is willing to lend me a match, the devil is in it, if I do not tarry here until the Lord God sends a fiery brand from heaven upon the farmstead of my son!”
And he raised his hands to heaven, and cried “Oh! Lord God, a little of thy fiery brimstone and thy name shall be exalted for ever and ever.” He cried aloud like one of the prophets of the Old Testament, until horror encompassed every one who listened to him.
Then again he spoke, turning his face to his neighbours. “The Lord God heareth not, and that because I equally inflicted wrong upon my own father—only that I never drove him to the dog kennel. Only when my own father has forgiven me
